


Gambit

by Vanya_Deyja



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Everyone Needs A Hug, Everything is miserable and everyone dies, M/M, Yami and Atem diff characters, lots of smut in the interim, suspicious use of the character 'Heba'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-28 18:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanya_Deyja/pseuds/Vanya_Deyja
Summary: An opening in which a player makes a sacrifice, typically of a pawn, for the sake of some compensating advantage. OR A device, action, or opening remark, typically one entailing a degree of risk, that is calculated to gain an advantage... Yami Sennen is the beleaguered minister for defence and Yugi Mutou is the imperial army's star mech pilot. An illicit affair between them spirals out of control with the aid of a king, a hero and a monster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: this is a resurrected fic. I wrote it, finished it and removed it from FFN about a year or two ago. I am reposting it here. So the story is completed but due to my schedule I can only update in this organised fashion about once a week. That said you can expect me to be fairly regular given the fic's prewritten.
> 
> AN: Important author notes at the end. I’d suggest you read the first two before this chapter but otherwise go nuts. 
> 
> Warnings: death, swearing like sailors and excessive smut.  
> Pairings: Yami/Yugi. Side Atem/Yugi later and sort of Yami/Heba (it’s very complicated that one)  
> Updates: weekly (might switch to fortnightly)

The Minister for Defence had a policy which generally involved capping office politics with military precision. Rules of conduct in his wing of the Palace were fairly simple: 

 _1\. Bitch with your friends._  
2\. Sit on your ass at home.  
3\. No, I don’t like any of you. They don’t pay me enough for that.  
  
It all worked swimmingly in theory and not so much in practice. Though perhaps that was lumping the military and administration components of his career too close together. Some things worked exceptionally well: the Empire was gaining territory in the war, as the youngest member of the Ministry he had just enough self-control to handle the perversion and procrastination of the Emperor and co, and generally speaking no one had really gone over the photocopying budget in the office. His secretary was actually re-arranging the spread sheet to redirect the money they didn’t spend on memos to throat lozenges, strong coffee and the manliest of commodities expensive chocolate. Yes, it was a trite solution, and yes if Minister Sennen was still reporting for field work the docs would have something to say about his cholesterol but as he was not still on active military duty all that could amount to a big fat, summative, _fuck it_.  
  
All things considered military hierarchy in the Empire was actually fairly stable too. Partly or entirely, depending on the source you inquired from, because Mister Yugi Motou was no longer part of military hierarchy. Yugi Motou was legendary for two things: fucking up the Minister’s long standing oath to refuse therapy and not playing well with others. Actually that was Yami Sennen’s personal list. In the wider community of the nation Yugi Motou was famous for almost single handily winning the war effort and being a massive _dick._

The press loved him despite long standing orders, upon serious threats of execution from the Minister, that after that watershed incident Yugi Motou was not to ever _ever_ speak directly with press or be within a hundred meters of a news copter again. It didn’t matter. Yugi Motou was their national war hero, the Ace in the Hole, the mech specialist every little boy wanted to curb stomp and he was of a very unsuiting appearance for his image. By that Minister Yami Sennen meant of course that for a universally acknowledged little _shit_ Yugi Motou stood five-six as the prettiest damn thing you ever did see. Fucking little...

The Minister was a strict man, fearsome, and in private all he really needed was a good back scratch, something strong and as little conversation regarding his childhood as possible. A man of simple needs and great reputation who rather wondered what sort of karma he’d racked up to deserve Yugi Motou during his life time. He couldn’t recall any orphan drowning sprees in the last ten years. Sure Yami Sennen had accumulated an… _unsightly_ , was the word the Emperor used, record at the Royal Military Academy for his failure to remain a member of any institutional club for longer than ten minutes. Even the Chess Team had endured a… _falling out_ with eighteen year old Yami Sennen. That however, in his opinion, did not slate a man of his birth rank and position for a career ensuring some angel faced little bitch didn’t nuke the wrong side of the border in a tantrum.

“Minister,” the secretary chirped uncertainly across the intercom on an otherwise lovely Thursday morning, “Mister Motou is here to see you.” 

Cue a show of supreme restraint as the Minister decided the mature course of action would be to take the meeting after screaming quietly into his palms. There. Much better. Alright, inhaling sharply, he positioned himself back in his chair and ran through the appropriate mental protocol preceding a meeting with his favourite little stress tumour. Sadly they were out of scotch. Still what was the worst the Knight could’ve done? He’d been on recon in some outpost near the Republican capital. All Yugi Motou had to do was count how many mechs the enemy had in their sandy waste basket excuse of a city and come promptly home.  
  
“Alright, send him in,” Minister Sennen ordered stoutly.

Oh, and it had been such a lovely Thursday till now.

It was never a good sign when Yugi Motou strutted into your office by opening the door backwards. Yami Sennen mourned the loss of another perfectly respectable, decent, day when Yugi Motou unhooked the door of his office with both hands cuffed behind his back.  
  
“What did you do now Mister Motou?” Yami seethed in his seat, unable to contain himself from waiting till the Knight saluted, half because his therapist said he really needed to vent more and half because Yugi Motou could not salute in handcuffs.  
  
Yugi turned still in his slick response suit, a combat model with strapped on secondary pads for rolling round in a mech cockpit like a psycho (note to self: revoke the ‘ _like’_ ), and grinned round the key prized between his teeth. One leg shot back to kick the door shut while he strutted, there was no less offensive word, and at a foot or three back from the Minister’s desk he spat the key with a saloon aim onto the Minister’s paper work. That done he leant all his weight into one cocked hip, arms straight and began simply by saying:  
  
“The good news is you’re going to have to invent another medal to give me,” which was directly followed by, “the bad news is those fuckers in HQ court martialled me again.”  
  
“So am I to assume you’re resisting military arrest or is this how they decided to send you to me after due course?” He sighed bitterly leaning his temple into one hand.

“If you’ve seen the brig once Minister you’ve seen it at least another four times,” Motou shrugged casually, Yami Sennen would’ve challenged him were he not so well aware that Yugi Motou saw the brig more frequently during the course of a year than Yami saw his solicitor.  
  
“Honestly I don’t know why they bother anymore.” He groaned.  
  
“You revoked the _Carte Blanche_ from March Minister.” The Knight blamed before ordering lazily. “Un-cuff me?”

“I don’t see why _I_ should bother,” Yami grunted, he didn’t think he could shake his head anymore without getting a cramp.

“Oh it’s one little court martial,” Yugi scoffed, “and Bohemia is putting _Mechs_ at the top of their Christmas list this year. What more do you want from me?”  
  
“Well you’ve thoroughly explored an exhaustive list of what I don’t want. Now, hopefully, sometime in the next twenty years you can start guessing the alternatives.” He chided snidely. 

“I’m sorry Minister,” the Knight cooed sweetly, “I never did finish that course on ass-kissing at the Academy.”  
  
Yugi Motou had apparently quite given up on the Minister’s willingness to un-cuff him any time in the immediate future and slumping into his antique chaise backed up against the far wall hiked one leg over the other. Sighing Yami slumped back in his own seat, eyed the paint cracks in the ceiling and started to consider the options for early retirement or dishonourable discharge from the service of the Emperor.

“Alright, that’s it,” Yami decided smacking his palm stoutly against the surface of his abused hard wood desk. “I have had it up to _here_ with you.”

“I know Minister,” Motou sighed smugly in his slouch, “I really have to kick this habit of winning your war. It looks shit on my record.”  
  
“New rules,” Sennen snapped loudly, and all at once that traitorous index finger of his was waggling sharply at Motou like the laser sight of a ballistic. “You’re working with a damn team next time!”

“Ha!” Yugi cawed snidely. “Minister, I thought you and I worked through this when the chain of command put a _restraining order_ on me.”

It was a beautiful strategy really. Three hundred officers up to and including three of the generals had filed simultaneous restraining orders en masse upon Mister Motou on what had been a reasonably lovely Tuesday till the memo hit his desk. Minister Sennen had been forced to re-establish a _fucking_ archaic Order of Knights to keep Motou in the armed forces after Special Ops had refused to have him anywhere near their barracks. He didn’t blame them. He’d heard all about that Christmas party in particular.

Currently concerning Motou there was only one chain in the command. Motou answered directly to the Minister for Defence, Yami sadly till he developed a multiple personality to handle the shit, and Motou then promptly pottered off to do whatever he felt like. If those urges didn’t so frequently win them landslide victories Yami would’ve reinstated the guillotine as a form of military execution.  
  
“There’s no point having a knighthood if you’re the only member,” Yami snapped, it was depressing really. “Elite special ops officers will be placed under your command, despite my better judgement, and you will be damn happy to have them.”

 It wasn’t a good strategy really but then at least someone else could endure Motou on a frequent basis. Maybe with a group tethered to slow him down the prodigy would finally discover some submerged leadership qualities and play mother hen. He could have a little psycho family to traumatise the enemy with and maybe, just once, Sennen would have a bargaining chip over him. 

“And second,” he boomed. “You are not laying one devious finger on a Mech rig until you set up and _attend_ regular appointments with a military therapist.”

 “ _Ha!_ ” The little shit emphasized lurching in his seat, cackling forward wildly, like some deranged strumpet sprawled across the Minister’s chaise

 “If I have to see one so do you,” maturity was fast sinking this ship that was certain but on the inhale the Minister still couldn’t recover it. That infectious, vein throbbing, temper Yami had acquiesced from his father and perfected under the care of his guardian was out in full bloom this fine Thursday. 

Yugi Motou cackled, harlot he was, into the arm of the chaise as if he was at some goddamn slumber party and Yami was quite sure that unflattering lower lip twitch of his was beginning to reform.  
  
“Smashing idea!” Yugi laughed. “I’ve never had a _profession_ ban me! Shall I aim for that by Christmas or would you like the mass resignation of all your staff before October?”

 “No missions without a crew,” Yami repeated sternly. “No crew until you see a therapist. That’s it. I don’t care if I have to bench you for the rest of the year.”  
  
“You _will_.” He teased smugly.  

“No, the Nation will,” the Minister corrected shortly, “and I’m not a charitable sod.”

“Clearly,” the strumpet snorted amusedly, “anything else Minister?”  
  
“No Motou.” He snapped. “Take your ass out of here.”  
  
“I’d salute Sir but I’m going to have to bow.” Yugi purred as he hooked himself up onto his feet and sauntered across the carpet back towards the door. He gave a flourish of a dip as his hands grasped the handle behind the small of his back and tilting his head back up grinned wildly. “Have a great day Minister.”  
  
The pen, mightier than the sword, was probably not as convenient as tool to stab his own eyes out with Sennen rued. 

* * *

What Yami Sennen did not like to admit was that in all actuality he was likely to lose this debate. Not for lack of vigour mind, the Minister for Defence was as stubborn as anyone raised with the Crown Prince had to be to get half a word in edgewise. The royal family, known for their drinking, gambling and… _well_ , Yami didn’t need to fill in that gap but needless to say as cousin to future king, orphaned and politically powerful Yami Sennen had not been raised to be a wisp. Whatever pack of wolves had weened and reared Yugi Motou (before the Knight ate them assumedly) had likewise filled his veins with spite thick enough to congeal the boy’s blood if ever a breath of self-loathing struck him strongly enough.

It was what Mahado, his closest inferior and nearest smoking companion, rather eloquently called _“the timeless struggle between an immovable object and an unstoppable force”_ though he rather conveniently shied away from specifying who was who. Mana didn’t say very much on the whole debacle outside of swearing lowly at the photocopier when Sennen order for the increasingly frequent caffeine refills.

The army, in theory, loved the concept of being without Yugi Motou. Yami Sennen loved the concept of a world, a glorious Utopia really, where he could go on with his duty and just fire the nasty little spitfire to exile never to be seen again by man or beast or politician (Yami had long since been taught that Politicians were somewhere in the chain of being entirely separate to decent men). Sadly however in practice, like so many things, it didn’t really work.

Three weeks in and while Yugi Motou strut himself down the Capital high street in full view of a hungry media Yami was saving soppy kneed generals on the front from their own incompetence. The faddy-dodders he commanded were senile old bats really. They, all of them Sennen included, rather depended on Motou’s wild, insensitive, virility to carry them through the harder patches when it came to the languishing war. The generals, the Ministry in general, got to play strategy games on their maps, report numbers and then send Yugi Motou in. Motou had a flouncing disrespect for authority sure but his desires (which consistent mainly of: _‘why what on Earth can I blow up today? Golly gee whose life haven’t I ruined yet?’_ Yami imagined) so often made his job easier.

The real crux of it was that, quite frankly, ordering large numbers of troops, feeding them, clothing them, dealing with their simpers about Christmas with families… was hard, expensive, work. Lobbing a box of TNT, a kind of tactical nuke, they called Yugi Motou at the enemy was quick, cheap, easy and devastatingly successful. Without him the Minister had his work cut out for him and needless to say both his stress and cholesterol levels were rising.

“The bloody hell is going on down here?” The Emperor grumbled finally when he pottered into Sennen’s office (after the obligatory passing pat to Mana’s unsuspecting ass).

The Emperor was a simple man. He liked war. He was convinced the Republic existed entirely on stolen Imperial lands he wanted back and he wanted them back as quickly as possible preferably in a grandiose fashion.

 “Pardon Majesty?”  
  
“What’s Motou doing flashing his ass round town?” Gozaburo prodded more plainly. “Jenkins tells me we’re bleeding funds and we’ve lost three clicks on the south line!”  
  
“We’re having something of an office dispute.” Yami sighed primly.  
  
“Well settle it!” He huffed. “Want this damn thing moving on. Got to take some of the coast by Christmas you know.”  
  
“Yes Majesty, well,” Sennen exhaled again, “Motou’s being…difficult. I can’t, in good faith, let him out onto the front till he takes his psychological evaluation. He’s well overdue.”  
  
“Of course he is, he’s a raging lunatic,” the Emperor snorted. “Send him out anyway. Boy’s no good _sane_ darn it all Sennen. ”

“I need him to respect the chain of command.” Yami empathized. The liquor he had stashed in that special bottom desk drawer of his was increasingly tempting especially as, utterly unapologetic, good old uncle Gozaburo took his mid-morning swig from the flask permanently perched on his hip. “It’s a matter of principle Majesty.”  
  
“Can we win the war without him?” The Emperor bristled round his whiskers.  
  
“I really wish we could?” Sennen offered.

“Get him in a cockpit,” the man gaffed. “I’m tired of seeing his ass over the papers. He’s making a mockery of the military. Making you look like a right tosspot after that defeat in Belgrade not to mention.”  
  
“I know,” Yami groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose fiercely. “I’ll get right on that Majesty.”  
  
“That’s my boy!” He decided. “Smashing then!”  
  
Yes the Emperor always was more dashingly social when one gave into his every whim. Sennen had learnt that young. None of the royal line really seemed to have any patience for anything. The amount of time the Crown Prince spent in that damn laboratory Sennen was convinced he would end up ruling the nation via proxy when Gozaburo carked it (from liver or lung cancer whichever one edged the other out in the race). 

* * *

Yugi Motou was making a mockery of several other things when the Minister finally tracked him down. Had no schedule, impossible to find, and while security assured him Motou was still in the Military block of the Palace they weren’t quite sure where and no one really wanted to get him. When calling the emergency phone in the gymnasium had failed, after a quick camera check, Sennen had decided to totter down there himself to fetch the buzzard.  

Yugi Motou’s mother should’ve been ashamed of herself, whatever Medusa she was, for allowing such a sprite to inhabit such a perfectly appealing body. That was Sennen’s ruing anyway when he found the Knight pounding the track of the treadmill sweating through a pair of delicious little shorts which did nothing to hide his ass and everything for his legs.  
  
“Motou!” Sennen roused his voice. He rather wanted the pilot to jump, startled, at least once but with this he was disappointingly ignored. “ _Motou!”_

“Yeah what?” Yugi called lazily, breathless, from the tread arms swinging.  
  
“We need to talk.” He used his best ‘ _I am the big scary commander voice_ ’ (which the press had successfully used to turn his image into some kind of spiked codpiece wearing tyrant) but to no avail.  
  
“Knock yourself out.” Motou panted and huffing tight through his nostrils Sennen was reduced to strutting in closer. Temptation emerged, briefly, to turn off the treadmill at the wall with dramatic flair but Yami rather considered Motou might actually hit him.  
  
“You need to go back on the field.”  
  
“I know.” Motou grinned eyes ahead.  
  
“Have you scheduled to see a psychiatrist yet?”  
  
“Nope.” Those eyes, nor that grin, ever wavered. “How about you?”  
  
“You’ve been all over the paper.” The Minister hissed.  
  
“Thinking about going into modelling,” Motou joked.  
  
“Well you’ll certainly need to consider alternative means of employment if you don’t meet your medical requirements for active duty.” He huffed properly.  
  
“Awesome.” Yugi answered still breathless, hair bouncing off his face. “Send me a memo when you win the war.”  
  
“Motou!” He grunted, fingers flaring between either strangling the brazen harlot or himself till eventually resolving to clench in fists.

 “You need a vacation Minister.”  
  
“We need to come to a resolution,” Yami snapped, “it’s pressing to national security.”  
  
“What did you have in mind?” The Knight inquired blandly the corners of those full lips perking up. Little harlot knew he’d won.  
  
Sighing Sennen leant himself into the frame of the treadmill unable to really bother asserting his authority stance much longer.  
  
“You take a team with you next time. I want to turn the Knighthood into an elite _unit._ ” Not just one sociopath with a very big laser however much that intimidated the enemy.  
  
“I don’t play well with others.”  
  
“Do you really want to stay here any longer?”  
  
“Nope, getting fat,” Yugi concurred bluntly. “What’s plan B?”  
  
“That _is_ Plan B.”  
  
“What’s Plan C?” Motou grinned cheekily as the vein in Yami’s forehead reached critical mass.  
  
“Now you listen here,” Yami grumbled thrusting out his index finger, “I am getting thoroughly fed up with your nonsense. You take a crew. You let a few competent pilots tag along with you on your next mission and I can get back to running the damn army.”  
  
“If they die it’s not my fault.” He retorted simply. “I’m not covering anyone’s ass. If they can’t keep up I’m not going back for them.”  
  
Sweet mother of Christ, the Minister was fairly sure the Gates of Hell had ripped asunder so Beelzebub himself could gape at Yami Sennen’s fortune. The impossible had occurred Yugi Motou had consented to a compromise. Praise the Lord!  
  
“You’ll be working with elite special ops.” He clarified with as much prim composure as he could manage. “All you have to do is give orders. I’m sure you’ll relish the chance to boss someone around.”  
  
“Natural leadership qualities.”  
  
“Dashing, well,” Yami was at a loss as to how to end a conversation with Yugi Motou that did not involve shouting or threatened masculinity. “Best get prepped. You’ll be briefed with a team shortly.”  
  
“Don’t send anyone you like.”  
 

* * *

_Yugi Motou?_ ” The scraggly blonde cried. “Really?”

 The Minister glanced, despairing eyes in a stern face, to Mahado who stood beside him with the clip board. This was their best sharp shooter? He was officially the monkey king of an army of savages. Not that the blonde’s immediate peers seemed proud of his outburst upon the announcement. As a matter of fact the green eyed male to the right seemed rathe sickly in his parlour.  
  
“Something wrong Mister Katsuya?” Sennen inquired, one fine brow raised.  
  
“Ah!” The blonde caught his protocol suddenly. “No Sir! That just sounds amazing Sir!”  
  
“I take it you’ve never met Mister Motou then.” Yami snorted and the brunette on the end of the line quirked into a grin while the green eyed centre male continued to languish miserably.

“Uh…no Sir?”  
  
“You’ll learn.”

 

* * *

He did. 

“Sir!” Katsuya piqued before the Minister could so much as part his lips. “I would like to formally request my removal from Commander Motou’s unit!”  
  
“Quiet down Katsuya,” he snapped, “we’re about to begin the debriefing.”

The blonde turned crimson, struggled to salute with his broken arm on reflex and under the Minister’s glower smacked up his second hand a fumbling second later against his forehead almost knocking Ryuji over beside him.

Motou ignored his trio of denizens and sauntering across pulled himself up to sit upon the edge of Sennen’s desk leaning dully into his arms. Yami would’ve shouted at him as well but he wasn’t prepared to lose a debate with Yugi Motou in front of the other troops. His reputation as the fearsome warlord would be irrevocably shot so, for the moment, he figured that he could do himself more favours by appearing to be in corroboration with the troublemaker.

“General Mahado tells me you decimated most of the Belgrade unit and forced the remaining Republican pilots into a strategic retreat. Yet I have a room full of miserable looking victors.”  
  
And one scraggly sharp shooting blonde with a broken arm. Yugi snorted on his desk, one leg hooking over the opposing knee and silent, mercifully, seemed deliciously sour. Yami could get used to packing the Knight up to go play with other children if it persisted in making him so unhappy.  
  
“Sir,” Hiroto voiced, “I think there was a serious failure in communication within the chain of command.”  
  
“I agree,” Ryuji the green-eyed intellect added a little more confidently. “Motou totally abandoned us out there.”  
  
“Motou?” Yami inquired leaning back in his desk. This might be fun. It couldn’t hurt either way actually this meeting was a great excuse to put off calling the Minister for Finance.

 “Ya think? Cause see, what I saw out there was a bunch of _morons_ who can’t take out some nobody in a Z6.” Yugi snorted twisting over his shoulder to the Minister. “I gave the _Looney Toons_ here one job: take out the left unit. By the time I’d utterly destroyed the remaining _three_ these clowns were playing tag with some Republican Lieutenant while his unit withdrew.”  
  
“We asked you for assistance!” Katsuya grunted. “That guy was crazy-good!”  
  
“Oh please,” Motou sneered, “he was in a Dragon Mech. They’re tripods. All you have to do is shoot at the base and he legs come out right from under them. They’re top heavy! Didn’t the academy teach you anything?  
  
“Alright enough,” Yami waved them down, “point is: you won. We’ve reclaimed Belgrade. As for _this_ ” he gestured, “sort it out. Motou’s in charge. Hiroto, Ryuji, Katsuya you received your orders, you complied, next time I expect a better performance.”

“ _Yes Sir._ ”

There nothing quite like the chorusing of unhappy drones. Yami Sennen saw this as an almost personal victory. Yugi Motou miserable, forced into compromises, bringing back a team of elites alive… Oh it wasn’t going to last. He wasn’t that naïve. Motou would find a way to squirm out of it (or _rip_ his way out of it given his aggression) but till then Yami was going to savour this.

 As they filed out, Motou languishing stubbornly on the desk, Yami had parliamentary meetings to consider. He was going to have to bring paper work. The Minister for Agriculture was dubiously sober most mornings, which should prove amusing, but Gangsley tended to rave endlessly so a few cultured, adult, distractions were in order.

 “Something wrong Motou?” Yami sighed drawing out the top compartment of his desk.

“Want to take bets on how long the toys will last?” He supposed coyly.

“You break them you have to give your condolences to the families in person.” The Minister threatened. He hated signing letters to war widows. Ate up so much of his coffee break he had Mana forge his signature these days. It was a ridiculous notion that the Minister for Defence should pretend to be personally moved by the tragic early death of a grunt too stupid to move up the ranks or a find job where bullet proof vests weren’t part of the uniform. Now the day Motou died he would show his compassion for the human race. He’d have a little party and everything. 

“Will I get new ones?” Yugi pondered aloud.

“Yes.”  
  
“Darn.” He sighed. “On a scale of one to Katsuya how annoying are their replacements?”

“Well no one will ever outshine you if that’s any concern.” Yami snorted. 

* * *

 “What’s that?” Mana perked over his shoulder intrusively later that afternoon, clustering in to infringe upon Yami personal space as he hunched at his desk while she flittered with the filing.

 Little bumblebee Mana with her tight, bright, voice and a body that wouldn’t quit had been his somewhat conspiratorial secretary now for ten years. Yami envied how a woman her age could still look so at home on a beach. Since leaving active duty on the field he’d felt a little poncy.  
  
“New mech they’re building,” the Minister shrugged before realizing in remark, “top secret though Mana dear.”  
  
“Of course,” she tapped her nose wading back to the filing cabinet and the stack of teetering manila on his pushed aside coffee table. “New super weapon?”

“The Emperor hopes so.” Yami shrugged flipping through the files. “Hog tied me into funding and supervising them. Till they show me something aside from bills however I’ll maintain its complete poppycock. The EX0D1A,” he sneered, “most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“Speaking of bizarre,” Mana grinned in elaboration.  
  
“Oh let’s not,” he groaned, “I have to talk about Yugi Motou enough as is.”  
  
“Alright then,” she surrendered with uncharacteristic and peppy ease, “something else then?”  
  
“ _Anything_ ,” Yami huffed.  
  
“How’s your love life?”  
  
The file slumped against the desk as, slouching, Yami was forced to shot her the most mellowed look of disbelieving scorn he could muster. Really? They were going to open up that old chestnut again? It must’ve been a Monday…  
  
“Non-existent,” he clarified, “and what have I said about the discussion of private matters within the office?”  
  
“ _Gossip with your friends_ ,” Mana recited the second cardinal rule, giggling. “Aren’t I?”  
  
“During working hours I don’t have to consent to any discussions about theoretical dates.” He shot back with a snort.  
  
“You need one though Minister,” she teased, “we aren’t getting any younger. Your tits will be scrapping the sidewalk soon.”  
  
“Charming imagery, gold star,” was his immediate diversion. He knew he was getting old. He didn’t need reminding. Thirty-two was a disgusting number. 

“Oh come on,” Mana laughed. “You’d be a catch. You’re the Emperor’s nephew, sixth-or-something in line to the throne, if you can’t get a toy boy what hope do I have?”  
  
“I don’t leave the office,” Yami snorted, “I don’t _have_ a private life. Besides I have plenty of hopeful suitors they just all want something and most of them are noble girls looking for marriage prospects…”  
  
“God’s first leeches eh?” She added knowingly. “No reason you shouldn’t work a little magic though.”  
  
“Eh,” Yami grumbled, “the older I get the less effort I want to put into the maintenance of someone else’s feelings. Especially when it comes to _toy boys_.”  
  
“Get someone without feelings then. Get laid.” Mana supposed flippantly.  
  
“Everyone has feelings,” the Minister sighed, “it’s a curse. Even I have a few clustered up in my shrivelled little heart.”  
  
“Everyone except Yugi Motou.”  
  
“Yes well I was referring to people not demons.”  


* * *

The royal linage in Cyprus was something of a disaster plainly put. A bit of drunken shambles all in all. Yami Sennen’s father had died after his birth but before the death of his grandfather which, in some circles, left the matter of next-in-line to the throne rather debatable. His uncle, the current Emperor Gozaburo, thought so clearly given how he assumed supremacy when Yami was a toddler rather than endure as head of a regency. Yami wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. He rather pushed his potential supremacy as ‘true heir’ aside. The current Emperor had raised him as his ward, rather well actually the temper and negativity aside (though how he’d managed that between boozing and whoring was mysterious), and Yami had no great interest in assuming any more responsibility than he already held.

Then of course there was Gozaburo’s actual line: Seto, Noah and Mokuba. Supposedly all three were Yami’s full blooded, legitimate, cousins which was a pure fabrication of the highest calibre. Noah was, indeed, Yami’s cousin or at least poor boy had been before the haemophilia soured that bright little spark. His passing had been tragic and in the wake of such everyone tended not to discuss how the Emperor had miraculously ‘ _discovered_ ’ two more sons. The official story was that Gozaburo had always had three sons. The official story was the safest for anyone who didn’t want to live under house arrest. Yami had been twelve at the time of the propaganda campaign obscuring little Seto and Mokuba’s adoptions. Now adult men they had very little to do with each other but they had once been raised rather closely. These days however Seto, six years Yami’s junior, stayed in his laboratory tinkering with preposterously named mechs and Yami remained the most practical level-headed member of the family. 

Finally there was, secretly, little Yugi Motou. Yami was hazy of the exact specifics. He did know for certain at least that the Emperor had taken eight year old Yugi Motou into custody from God knew where and immediately set the little prodigy to his academic and military greenhouse for cultivating. Six years Seto’s junior and twelve Yami’s however Yugi had been raised in something of blissful, spoilt, isolation specifically, Yami theorized, to create the very decimating and calamitous force of nature ‘ _spirit of war’_ creature he now was.

The point of it was that Gozaburo had assembled a shambled little collective of wards, three of them prodigies of respective fields, which sounded blissful but in reality was quite imposing during ‘family’ dinners. Not that Gozaburo was a family dinner kind of man but every now and then he got the urge to assemble his little menagerie and gloat somewhat over them.  
  
Yami didn’t like dinners because they very frequently involved three of his greatest pet peeves: time that could’ve been better spent, children and socialization. The most vivid of such dinners Yami remembered from his youth was a long and colourful list which had more than once involved hard liquor. Seto and Yami tended to tumble into technical debates about the running of the army. Yugi rather intimidated Mokuba. Yugi intimidated everyone though. When Yami was twenty-four and little Yugi had been twelve placing them across the table had ended in the passing of several unsavoury glances.

A discordant group surely, not the standout occasions of the Minister’s social calendar however sparse it was and matters were only made worse when in the elevator to the more private wings of the palace he found Yugi Motou coming up from the basement hangar where the Knight’s mech was serviced.  
  
“Do you own anything other than uniforms and piloting gear?” Yami proposed instantly as he took stride beside him.  
  
“Do you own anything other than suits?” Yugi returned arms crossed slackly as he leant into one leg.

“No.”  
  
“Got a cigarette?”  
  
“I didn’t think you smoked.” Sennen was never very successful at being informal and slipping his hand in his breast found himself handing over a pair.  
  
“I don’t.” Yugi snorted. “You can guarantee he’ll ask me for one though.”  
  
“Why do you think I have them?” He retorted a fraction lighter and smirking beside him Motou made quite an elaborate sweeping gesture to permit Yami first exit from the elevator.


	2. Chapter 2

(Track- Dmitri Shostakovish _Waltz No. 2_ ) 

Gozaburo switched between his liquid and tobacco based poisons just as flickered between praise and cynicism. By the time the evening was over Yami could safely predict no one would feel pleased with themselves but who the Emperor’s ire landed on in particular was up to his wavering moods as they took their seats. A prankster at heart the Emperor insisted on having Yami to his left, Seto to his right, Yugi to Yami’s side and Mokuba to Seto’s so the eldest and youngest pair could lock eyes juxtaposed. Had quite a sense of humour the old man did making mini battlefields across the tablecloth.  
  
Mokuba flinched upon raising his head from his book to find Yugi staring back at him and startled ducked back down like a rabbit before Yami could make any introduction. Poor little Mokuba, their scholar, seemed ever more likely to be the only flower in a brood of ravenous dogs as the years progressed.

“Ah, so,” Gozaburo grumbled a great potbellied warlord as he slapped down in the seat at the head of the table already armed with the first glass of the night. “My boys.”  
  
Yugi’s eyebrows flexed up beside Yami towards Seto who, turned away with his chin in his hand, returned the empathetic gesture with a roll of his pupils. Long suffering in this precarious family unit Yami found the whole mess increasingly uncomfortable. He knew he had the option of playing with his food and submitting himself to Gozaburo’s one dinner rule: _‘last man standing has to drain his glass.’_ Unfortunately as the only adult at the table with a real job Yami had to rise at five every morning.

“What have we been up to hmm?” Gozaburo demanded stoutly.  
  
“Winning the war,” Yugi retorted brazenly, with his ever healthy ego, as he drew his glass in. The fact he was now of drinking age quite worried the Minister beside him.   
  
“Enduring the Minister for Finance,” Yami shot when set upon with the Emperor’s stare, “tells me we’re going over budget the insufferable peon.”  
  
“Developing another array of new weapons for testing,” Seto shrugged at his turn in the roll call.   
  
“And what about _you?_ ” Gozoburo prodded at Mokuba. Apparently he had been set on as tonight’s target. “While everyone else has been working what have you been doing with that allowance of mine?”  
  
“Um…” Mokuba flushed. “Studying?”   
  
“What _now?_ ” The Emperor sighed in exasperation.   
  
“Philosophy?”

“Christ almighty,” he grumbled into his glass.

 It was as if a racing bell had rung out and Yami reached instinctively for his own glass of wine. Heaven help him. This was going to be an exceptionally long evening.

"Thank God for your brother.”   
  
Yami took a heavy swig as Gozaburo began a tirade about the faffing time-wasters of the higher education system. Yami heard something about ‘ _educational reform_ ’ and _‘mandatory conscription’_ before the Emperor tottered off into a stock favourite of his: his loathing for modern art.  
  
“New weapons?” Yugi diverted quickly at Seto who perked to the call.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Anything for me?” Motou teased with sharp eyes and quirked lips ever hopeful for a new toy.  
  
“I’ve been working on an exceptionally powerful kinetic energy laser.” Seto shrugged. “It needs field testing with someone who isn’t an incompetent tosspot.”  
  
“Sign me up.”  
  
“Oh no,” Yami snorted, “last thing we need is Motou armed with a giant laser.”  
  
Hadn’t he made a mental joke to himself about this very same matter? Must everything conspire to bite him back in the ass?

“Nonsense!” Gozaburo entered. “If it’s any good, which it will be knowing Seto, Yugi’s just the man to test it. He’ll put it through its paces. Make sure it can handle the real pressures of combat.”  
  
“So long as there’s a nondisclosure I can enter into,” Yami added flippantly still cradling his wine, “I want to be legally immune from any war crimes he may or may not inevitably commit.”  
  
“Yes, yes, of course.” The Emperor acknowledged. “Now who’s this Republican start up I’ve been hearing too much about?”  
  
“Hmm?” The Minister blanked.   
  
“ _Atem Horakhty_ ,” Yugi sneered, “distracted three of my tagalongs and now they think he’s some kind of Bohemian hero to be.”

“He’s more sellable than you if anything.” Seto remarked dryly.  
  
“A backwater no-name,” Gozaburo grumbled, “I don’t like the man already. We’ll have to properly introduce him to Yugi. Sooner characters like that are gone the better I always think.”  
  
“My pleasure,” their weapon preened casually, “one of my sidekicks is convinced he’s some sort of incredible natural talent. I’m sick of it.”   
  
“How old?” The Emperor inquired. “Not some babe faced brat like you I should think?”  
  
“Baby faced alright,” Yugi snorted with distain, “handsome. Older than me though. I think he’s about Mokuba’s age.”  
  
Yami didn’t bother to point out that almost _everyone_ in the military was older than Yugi Motou. At twenty he was no longer the youngest member of the professional army but considering the boy had been traipsing their trenched chess board officially since sixteen (which was, of course, illegal) he was difficult to displace from that image.   
  
“Get rid of him won’t you then?” The Emperor ordered lazily and nodding keenly Yugi complied. “There’s a good lad.”  


* * *

  
Seto’s electric pulse laser was a fearsome construction perhaps more so because it was on an already very efficient, very streamline, killing machine. Yugi Motou seemed enthralled with the new construct mounted on the mech, which he had for the last year used to cause havoc, which the Minister didn’t all together consider for the best. Any time Yugi Motou smiled he was sure a soldier gave their dying breath somewhere or a mother felt their unborn child kick in fear.   
  
“Think you can work with it Mutou?” Yami supposed stiffly.  
  
“Oh Seto,” he trilled low and exuberant, ignoring the Minister entirely. “It looks _epic._ ”  
  
“I’ll take that as a yes.” The Crown Prince sighed to Yami sympathetically. “Don’t break it Motou that cost me a lot of time and money.”  
  
“I want that nondisclosure on my desk tomorrow morning.” Yami intervened to the brunette beside him. “I do not want to be responsible for what he does with that death machine.”  
  
“You are most of the time.” Yugi called jovially curling his fingers up the side of the mech, finding footholds and handholds to scale the sizeable machine with the finesse and experience that only came from years of handling them. Yami and Seto both could scale a mech as comfortably as Yugi, true, but not quite with so much love or move one with so much devastation.  
  
“What exactly does it do?” The Minister ignored.   
  
“Shots a highly charged beam of what is essentially directed lightning. It’s over three thousand degrees. It’s not very wide or very large. It has long reach but it requires precision-”  
  
“You hear that Motou?” Yami checked.  
  
“Yeah! Yeah!” He dismissed flippantly so Seto and Yami could share another savoured sigh.  
  
“In the lab tests we cut a rig in half. Solid titanium and steel, three inches thick, went through it like butter.” The Prince informed the Minister.   
  
“Pfft!” Yugi laughed throwing his head back. “Careful Majesty you’re going to get me all hot and bothered!”  
  
He was halfway up the mech by now, like a spider or a squirrel scrambling up a tree, and when he reached the top to jump between the equipment light feet bounded as if Yugi Motou were some harmless mountain goat in the hangar.  
  
“Ignore him.” Yami muttered dryly. “He tends to just go away and do his own thing if you don’t make eye contact long enough.”

“Hardly matters.” Seto scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets, he was perhaps the one person who disliked human beings with greater intensity than Yami Sennen. “I just want to prove it works. I know it works now I just have to convince those idiots with the equipment regulations.”  
  
“ _Bah!_ ” He sneered. “Pencil pushers the lot of them. Though, one day one of your machines isn’t going to be a spectacular success and then what will you do?”   
  
“Make another one.” The Prince retorted blandly. No sense of humour in Seto. Not even a little bitter one like in Yami’s cold black heart or a sassy prickling of graveyard giggles like in Yugi’s cavernous chest. It was a shame really.   
  
_“Oh my God!_ ”  
  
They turned, the whole Royal flush, to find Yugi’s little gaggle of tagalongs gapping exquisitely up at the newly adapted machine and prancing forward Mister Jonouchi Katsuya looked like he might burst from his skin.  
  
“That looks awesome!” Once again the blonde’s excitement had escaped with his common sense. Apparently Seto’s weapons were a cat among simple minded pigeons. “Do we get one of those as well?”

“Of course Katsuya!” Yugi laughed from the top of the framed scaffold holding the mech in place which he had eventually scaled.   
  
“Really?” Ryuji piped quietly sticking his head out from behind the scraggly blonde hopefully. Even poor Mister Hiroto looked hungry at the prospect.

“ _Of course not_ you idiots,” he snorted.  
  
Ah, there it was, wasn’t a full morning for Yugi Motou unless he dashed some hopes and dreams. Yami supposed the day just wasn’t the same unless he made someone cry. Having his own little unit must’ve, in that way, quickly been becoming a blessing.

Yami would have to do something about that.

* * *

(Track- PSY _Gangnam Style_ )

Katsuya had this tendency, Yugi had learnt, to swear in a continuous stream over the radio feed once combat started. Put him in radio silence, get him to take out guards, and the guy was steely but let him lose in close mech combat and he got a bad case of immediate verbal diarrhoea. To think these dipsticks wondered why Yugi didn’t give them more orders when Katsuya filled up the signal with gibberish.

One day the blonde was going to give Yugi a headache, probably one day soon, and when pushed a little too far over that edge Yugi might just snap. Really who would notice in this kind of hectic haze if he took out Katsuya or if the enemy did? Yugi had seen it happen. He hadn’t cared but he’d seen it happen. As a matter of fact some, now unemployed, officers had tried to assassinated him in such a fashion. It had been a _very_ poor career decision.    
  
The only good think about Katsuya’s bullshit was it distracted the enemy as well.

“Motou,” Hitoro was a litter sharper than their resident golden retriever. “What do we do? There’s got to be at least twenty of them coming up fast.”  
  
Twenty? Hah! Yugi dealt with forty before his morning coffee. Elites these days.   
  
“Just stay the fuck out of my way,” he warned, “I’m breaking out his Majesty’s gift.”  
  
Oh Yugi had been dying for the excuse to crank the electric pulse whatever-the-fuck the shiny was called. He flipped the sight, leant into his restraints, and dragging his teeth over his bottom lip felt the controls with one hand while he twisted the gas with another. The Republicans were idiots. Who came in formation anymore? In mixed mech units? Ha! Yugi thrust his machine right towards the centre of them on the rollers, they scattered, and just as he spun the charge of the laser rang out with a green prompt window flying onto one of his HD vid screens. He hit the button.

 It was fucking beautiful. He needed to hug Kaiba. The Prince’s laser sliced units clear in half and as Motou already had the machine twisting in the grass of the field the foot locks trying to stabilize the mech against the recoil couldn’t take effect. He hadn’t had time to disarm that safety protocol before leaving the hangar, it made his spin drag and slow as the restraints skidded trying to lock into the ground. He couldn’t fix it properly now but mind whirring coolly as the Republicans panicked he tapped up the override command onto the opposing vid-screen and shut off all safety functions. He hardly used them anyway.

Hitoro and Ryuji were smart enough to come up behind him and herd in the scrambling enemy units trying to scatter away from Yugi. There wasn’t a piece of equipment on any of these fuckers that could match what Yugi had just drawn out. It was beautiful really. He could hear the units nearest him wetting themselves.   
  
A mech came round his back right. The right vid screen flared a warning arrow at the encroaching machine but Yugi was already aware of it out of the corner of his eye before the computer had registered the threat. That was how Yugi won. He was always three steps ahead. He’d been turning to cover his back before the dumbass in the H10 had thought to go for him. Yugi’s thumb found the button of the main artillery rifle with experience and with two shots to the cockpit, canopy shattering, the Republican mech was out of the game.

Gozaburo wasn’t ever really big on prisoners anyway.

The alarm blared sharply, Yugi twisted the artillery as he turned and let loose without a second thought. Hesitation didn’t work. Restraint and skill worked but hesitation got you killed. Unfortunately it wasn’t Katsuya his bullets found but that was a possibility. With the safety protocols off his mech wouldn’t distinguish between enemy and friendly units. Yugi didn’t care. The time it took the computer to tell them apart was a lag. Yugi could tell with or without it if anything it was just a crutch for the rookies.

“ _Hey!_ ” The radio sizzled. “ _Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?_ ”

Ding ding! Enter the challenger!

“Cause they don’t exist!” Yugi laughed, flicking the sight for the electric pulse laser back up as he locked in on where the brazen signal was coming from. What did you know, the Z6 dragon mech, could it be?   
  
“ _I’m asking you formally to withdraw or there will be no mercy!_ ” The Lieutenant rallied boldly his cockpit cam feed flickering up into a window on Yugi’s main vid screen. Oh yes, found him, Atem Horakhty wanted to play tag.

“ _Mercy?_ ” Yugi laughed slamming the laser command as the charge pinged up full. “Where have you been?”

Yugi had to hand it to him the Republican moved fast. Atem turned his boosters just right, made sure the rollers didn’t lock, and sure enough swerved his mech out of disaster with a skill that showed most clearly in that moment of panicked survival instinct. Yugi’s stomach jumped up, excitement bubbling, as he realized that maybe the war hero wannabe could be a legitimate challenge. He’d been sorely lacking in decent competition after all. Still Atem’s dodge was fractionally clumsy, part of the mech singed by the laser but those stragglers hiding behind Atem highlighted just how bad it could’ve been if the man had been a second slower.

Yugi kicked his own throttle. He wasn’t going to lay off hero boy here for a second. Sharks were in the water, blood had been spilt and Yugi was hungry to trash this chivalrous little fucker right back to his country cradle in a wooden box. Then they’d see who the Republicans would try to idolize as their newest barrack legend.

“Don’t ask to play if you can’t cut it pretty boy!” Yugi warned as the other slid between his fellows to try and put some space between them.

Idiot seemed to think that Yugi would try and swerve round them to follow him. Not at all, rather, Yugi took the opportunity to ram, charge, right into the fodder ducking the mech a little lower to hit the chest regions and knock the mechs off their feet to toss across the ground hard. Yugi heard Atem swear, inhaling sharply, over the radio now he had locked onto the sound of his voice well enough to distinguish it from the rest of the screaming.

Yugi had his tail, switched course right and when the Republican pivoted to try and face him with the cannons of the Z6 he found Yugi up close and personal, almost upon him, right before Yugi tugged at the reserve lever overhead. The claws of the mech dug, latching, into the chest of Atem’s Z6 and working fast as the Republican tried to struggle out of the hold Yugi’s body moved with years of vicious, ruthless, competence. Atem was in a bear trap, too close to fire his cannons without missing or else hurting himself in the recoil but Yugi conversely had a second option.  
  
The claws locked in the Z6 flared to life at Yugi’s command sending thirty thousand volts of raw electric charge shooting through the metal form of Atem’s unit. He heat would’ve played havoc with the systems of the computer on board, Yugi knew the Republican was blind know with the vid feed cut to the cockpit and worse the internal damage to the more delicate but crucial systems would be horrible. He didn’t stop there though. When the shock died Yugi revved the thrust with the advantage he had, Atem struggling without any view, and slammed the mech hard tossing it down into the earth.

He heard the man scream. The cockpit fractured and frame broken Atem was out of the game. There was no way the mech could get back up and if the Republican was still alive, Yugi grinned, he was not going to be so handsome any more that was for sure.

* * *

(Track- Tchaikovsky _The Nutcracker Overture)_                   

Yugi returned looking far too happy for Yami’s tastes but then maiming a hapless enemy solider was apparently one of those little joys in life. Frankly Yami found it admirable that a mass murdering loco like Motou still took the time to appreciate the small pleasures of his profession. It showed such spirited positivity. It should’ve been comforting that at least the Prince’s laser concoction worked but then Yami remembered they’d entrusted it to Yugi Motou and all his personal satisfaction faded. What next? Would they be picking up recruits from the mental health clinic?   
  
“What are you doing up here anyway Motou?” The Minister grumbled from his seat in the Emperor’s private viewing box. “I would’ve thought you’d been in the competition.”  
  
“Just the Emperor’s procession,” Yugi shrugged slapping down ungracefully into a plush armchair beside him, shaking the champagne on the side table as he inspected his nails. “They don’t want me to compete this year. It fucks with the betting.”  
  
“Hmm,” Yami snorted, “I suppose that was a private request from the Emperor?”  
  
“Duh,” Motou chuckled, “he can’t win big from the betting if there’s already a set winner and the mech tournament attracts all the best money.”  
  
“I heard Mokuba’s competing this year.” He sighed leaning back into his seat primly. He did so dislike making conversation but rather he engaged with Motou or Kaiba than call upon the attention of a fellow member of the ministry while they mingled here in the VIP box.

“All very hush-hush,” Yugi nodded, sitting sideways in the seat hooking one leg over the other and crossing his arms as he watched totally ignorant of how he shoved his boots at Yami. “Kaiba won’t tell me if he outfitted his mech or not. Should be good.”   
  
“Do you think he’ll win?” Yami was a reasonably competent judge of military skill but Yugi was the combat specialist here. Half the ministers would’ve already consulted him about who to bet on and, already sequestered by the Emperor’s loyalty, Yugi probably would’ve lied.

“Depends,” Motou eluded. “I’ll know after the first match. If nothing else it’ll be hilarious to see a Prince get trounced.”  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” he sighed morosely.   
  
“Are you going to bet Minister?”  
  
“Of course not,” Yami grumbled messaging his temple, “it’s immature.”  
  
“You ever feel like your frigid ass is going to keel over from boredom?” Yugi teased with whip like brutality making the Minister rankle.  
  
“I’ll remind you Motou,” he warned, “that while we may not be on duty I am still-”  
  
“My big brother?” The pilot grinned wickedly. “While we’re off duty, at stuff like this, we’re supposed to play _Happy Royal Family_ aren’t we Sennen?”   
  
Yami hissed into his palm and tried very hard to censor himself from what immediately wanted to vacate his mouth. One day he would find a reason to laugh very loudly at Yugi Motou and it would be magical. His little withered heart would grow three sizes that day.   
  
“Where’s Kaiba anyway?”  
  
“The Crown Prince is arriving later after he disposes with official business.” The Minister answered. Damn Seto had an excuse to get out of all this posturing and fodder of smiling at cameras between the opening ceremonies. Given half a chance Yami would’ve faked an international incident to escape.  
  
“Lucky bastard,” Yugi cackled with all his usual restraint.  
  
“You’re awfully peppy today,” Yami signed, “drown any puppies recently?”  
  
“Thought about it but they’re not in season.” The pilot shot back unapologetically.   
  
It was almost depressing Yami couldn’t find a civilian to match his wit verbatim with such effortless skill. If Motou’s sense of pitch black humour had been the cloak of a much more enjoyable individual Yami might’ve acted upon any inklings of physical attraction. As he stood he seemed doomed to die bitter and unsociable. The Capital’s courtiers were too manipulative to entrust with something like a sexual fling given the precarious nature of Sennen’s position and how he could be blackmailed. As for the civilians they were too romantic, too unjaded, and too insufferable really in Yami’s impatient experience.  
  
Then again it took years to master the stark, unapologetic, nastiness the royal family perpetuated under Gozaburo’s patron ship. The fact Yugi, Yami and Seto were such seething balls of sarcasm was no great surprise. The fact none of them drank, whored or smoked heavily was.   
  
“So where’s your ass kisser and his fag hag?” Yugi pondered allowed. “I thought Igor followed you everywhere.”  
  
“If you’re referring to General Mahado and my secretary they’re back at the Palace.” He replied contemptuously. “Where are your toys?”  
  
“Off in the stands.” Motou grinned. “I told them they had to pay their own admission if they wanted to come.”   
  
“I must say,” Yami snorted, “one day very soon you’ll out asshole yourself if you’re not careful.”  
  
“Don’t want to peak too soon do I?”   
  
Yugi grinned leaning his cheek into his knuckles to gaze at Yami over his knees and really the little punk was lucky he was so good at what he did or else the army and the ministry would’ve tossed him out of his ass without a friend in the world. Did Motou know that? Know that if he wasn’t careful then one day it would be his head on the chopping block? Maybe that was why he was so insufferable. Go big or go home while he had it Yami supposed and to a degree he could understand.

One day, after all, the Emperor might decide that Sennen was a dangerous liability and make him disappear just like Noah. Yami assumed he was reasonably safe so long as he showed such little ambition and didn’t bear any heirs but there was always a chance. Gozaburo had been increasingly paranoid as he aged.

"Sennen,” oh lord not Crump, the Minister for Finance was detestably boring. “How are things this with you this fine morning?”  
  
“Glorious,” he smiled tightly, his face wasn’t really fashioned for such expressions. “And yourself Crump?”  
  
“As well as can be expected in this weather,” he sighed. “I was just telling Leichter the catering has slipped this year. Don’t you agree?”  
  
“I wouldn’t know,” Yami chuckled, it was the safest course of option after his plan A which was to throttle the little whimpering vagabond.   
  
“Always focusing on more important matters I’m sure,” Crump nodded solemnly as if it was their shared great burden. Load of bullocks. “Who will you be betting on this year then Minister? You’re the expert.”  
  
“Mokuba of course, one must show support,” he lied fluently. “Motou is perhaps the best adviser if you wish solely to profit however.”  
  
“I’m sure!” He chuckled glancing over to Yugi at Yami’s diversion. “Shame you’re not out there this year eh Motou? I think having someone to put the fear of God in the competitors is almost essential you know.”  
  
“Not this year,” Yugi smiled contorting his face with the same unnatural discomfort Yami did, “I got bored of winning. More contest on the battle field.”  
  
“Of course,” Crump nodded patting Yami’s shoulder conspiratorially, “I envy you Sennen. I wish I had someone like Motou to throw round at my accountants some days.”  
  
“I’m a lucky man,” Yami smiled politely, “not everyone gets to work so closely with family and war is such a personal matter. It’s hard to escape a sense of camaraderie.” 

Yugi laughed, almost as if he was teasing Yami for being so sentimental but when they locked eyes with those gooey fake smiles the Minister utterly understood why Yugi Motou was laughing. Yami almost heard his soft little voice perk: _‘that was so lame I’m about to vomit’_.  


* * *

(Track- Tchaikovsky _Flower Waltz_ )

Mokuba did not allow Seto to outfit his mech with anything special but he did allow the royal flourish to be played when he entered the ring to the excitement of a dazzled crowd. At twenty three he was a smart boy, a devoted and educated pacifist, but not even he was immune from cultural pressure. Mechs, warfare, were the central order of the Kaiba family. What he identified as his most immediate family were intimately embroiled in combat: Yami led the army, Kaiba developed their weapons, Yugi won their battles… Gozaburo expected it and Mokuba, never the sort, felt however it went against the grain of his character that he had to contribute.

His first two matches went very well, delightfully surprised Gozaburo had laughed, clapped, shouted a toast… which of course only made the old satyr grumble louder when Mokuba embarrassed him by taking a damaging hit early on. Still Yami had been rather startled himself. Yugi had leant forward in his seat, straightened even to sit properly, and leaning his elbows into his thighs had watched intently.

The pair of them had been steely with new interest. Yami found his own form hunching in, entranced, and gazing out the viewing window into the packed arena at the blood sport they started mumbling. Really Yugi Motou was the only one with enough military experience to properly appreciate a battle.  
  
“Not a bad hook,” Yami found he was whispering. “He’s manipulating his throttle carefully to decrease his turning time.”  
  
“No…” Yugi mumbled, eyes never wavering though the pupils darted over details not even the Minister could catch. “His footing is uneven. If he keeps spinning he’s going to stack it in the right corner.”  
  
“Right corner?” The Minister proposed examining the spot and realizing the implication: “Ah!”

Yugi’s eyes flickered over him. They understood each other. Yami would’ve congratulated the younger man for spotting it if he’d liked him better. Mokuba had used his dexterity and speed in the last two matches to counteract his weaknesses but the basic instability in his footing which came with inexperience would cost him. The mechs had by now been tearing up the earth of the arena all morning, the muddy and bloody had been sprayed down in the far right corner. If Mokuba wandered too close to it with that sloppy leg work the whole world was going to come out from underneath him.  
  
It was paralysing to watch a good fight. Yami saw the flaws, Yugi saw three times as many, it was as if they knew the end of the story and waiting wanted to see if the players could figure it out and save themselves. Part of Yami, the less sour part which was occasionally like a human being, hoped Mokuba won while the rest of him was too detached to be anything but curious. He wasn’t great at investing.   
  
“He’s working him left…” Yami mumbled as Mokuba lashed out against his opponent.  
  
“He’s being herded,” Yugi countered quietly, “the enemy isn’t that clumsy. He dodged plenty of better hits in his last match. Mokuba’s being led like a dog by the nose…”  
  
“How do you know?” The Minister perked curiously.  
  
“Recognize the paint work.” Yugi answered never wavering over the opposing unit Mokuba was pitted against. How Yugi could recall any insignia in some sixty match contest Yami put down to genuine skill. “It’s hideous.”

Yami sighed, leaning back, that threw him. Not concerning Motou, god no, the fact the young man has some sense of a colour palate was irrelevant. Just, really, it reminded him that at times like this Yami would’ve rather been home repainting the lounge. The few vacations he scourged tended to turn into DIY redecorations of his home. Call him a poncy homosexual cliché but he didn’t like being hounded by cameras at a beach when he was way past his glory days of shirtless-ness and he had a penchant for interior design. So sue him he was classy. He was proud enough to accept that and masculine enough to never admit it in public.

When was his last proper vacation? Not just the damnable public holidays the Emperor demanded they take off. Yami hated Christmas, bloody disaster, asked himself every year why he couldn’t scrap the whole proceeding. Charity was expected, kindness was a given, and the whole fucking world was supposed to stop because some wench had dropped a calf in a barn a few thousand years ago? Nonsense! Soulless Grinch of the office he didn’t like that he was hogtied forcibly from his desk for a minimum of three days after spending the preceding twelve listening to news outlet mommies complain their little Johnny wasn’t home for the holiday. Worse the soldiers expected a holiday on the line because, oh yes, the spirit of giving really fit in amongst shiny new artillery.

Alright he was raving, he centred himself, when was his last proper vacation? It was a bit flushed from his mind. It must’ve been three years ago when he _wasn’t_ thirty. He missed that. He felt old. 

“ _Nhn!_ ” Yugi moaned burying his face in his hands, disgusted and ashamed, when Mokuba preformed a stupendous muddy backflip worked into a carefully laid trap by his opponent.

Fucking twenty year old firm and plush Motou Yami rued. Oh right the duel! He surveyed the field. Mokuba had lost, unsurprisingly, and sighing he binned that hope. It wasn’t too unexpected. The Prince wasn’t built for this sort of thing he just didn’t have the girt for it. That decided Yami sunk solemnly back and straight faced, the image of composed authority, resumed reconfiguring his furniture mentally. Nothing smelt better than fresh paint. Really though sometimes he wondered why the media thought he was some kind of indomitable never ending militant man to the core. He could care less if they won the beach from the Republicans. He wanted a backrub. He’d sell military secrets for a backrub and/or the occasional well mixed drink.

He honestly considered abusing his authority as Minister for Defence to demand Motou fetch him something highly ethanol based.  
  
“Yugi!” Gozaburo snapped, fierce after Mokuba’s embarrassing defeat, trying to turn the attention to another of his successful wards instead as quickly as possible. “Fetch us a drink will you dear boy? Come tell your old man who to bet on!”  
  
Damn, beaten to the punch. Yami would have to surrender Motou, what a shame, he snorted. Where was Mahado when he needed him?   
  
“Sir, my sincerest apologies for the delay, I-”

Ah, there he was, time to get inebriated.

As they said: it was noon _somewhere._  


* * *

(Track- Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone Soundtrack _He Who Must Not Be Named_ )

The fuck was that ugly thing? Now the Minister knew that machines weren’t necessarily meant to be visually appealing but truthfully this had to be the most hideous composite of wires and electrified cells he’d ever seen through a viewing window.  
  
“Explain this to me.” He ordered blankly, huffing with a displeasure which set the little lab-rat on edge, as he flipped through the folder in his hands before him and glanced to the monstrosity.  
  
“That is the external armour for the core to connect its synapses to the rest of the mechanism.” The little man doddered anxiously.  
  
“That’s the EA?” Yami scoffed. “That’s massive. How big’s the core of this thing going to be?”  
  
“We’ve just finished growing it,” he chimed a little more excitedly, “it’s in tank C if you would like to inspect it Minister?”  
  
“How big are you intending to make this unit?” Sennen pressed impatiently.   
  
“With the Crown Prince’s help and the Emperor’s blessing we intend to make it approximately a hundred and twenty four meters from wing tip to wing tip-”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he laughed breathlessly, “between this and the EX0D1A project you people will bankrupt our steel industry! Tell me, will this giant paper weight have any defining features apart from the exuberant cost?”  
  
“Sir!” He twittered in a panic. “The AI we’ve worked into the core is incredibly advanced. It’s out preforming the seventh generation systems and it’s not even fully developed yet! The Crown Prince himself is supervising the weapons manufacturing and, if I can say so myself, it is considerably larger than the EX0D1A.”  
  
Yes well EX0D1A project only wanted to make their super weapon four meters up and a metre and a half across. They weren’t trying to build a walking skyscraper. Suddenly the whole EX0D1A project seemed less ridiculous in comparison to this nonsense.   
  
“What are we tagging this?”   
  
“The Z0-RC.”  
  
“If this giant trashcan doesn’t work,” Yami warned, “if it’s useless. Then so help me I will melt it down and repurpose it into hubcaps along with your career. As for this,” he flapped the folder jutting it at the viewing window, “I don’t want to hear about your AI till you’ve got something solid to show me. Don’t waste my time. I assure you I won’t hesitate to cut the funding, whatever the Emperor might’ve told you, especially if the EX0D1A outclasses you in practicality and performance.”  
  
“Sir!” 

“Make it work.”

* * *

(Track- Emilie Autumn _God Help Me_ ) 

  
Desert combat was messy. The terrain was always changing, the mechs clogged with sand, the vid screens lost focus awkwardly. Yugi loved the privilege of exploiting and compensating against that force of nature which rivalled his own. If anything the sand helped. The boys had enabled him to locate and encircle a Bohemian reserve group in the ruins of a long abandoned outpost who, Yugi guessed, had been hoping to attack one of the nearby Imperial bases with some Guerrilla warfare. Unfortunately they’d never get the chance.

Yugi however found himself a nice little surprise as they stormed the unsuspecting troops panicking to reach their mechs. Some ponce in a red bipedal mech, a similar structure to Yugi’s own, reached his cockpit without being shot down in Katsuya’s artillery fire hazing the earth and kicking the throttle had shot at Ryuji and Hitoro like a bat out of hell.

Yugi’s comrades swore, leapt back on their rollers rockily and watching the mech slide from a nearby rooftop Yugi realized the truth of it, grinning viciously, while Hitoro tried not to piss his pants.  
  
“Take him out!” Yugi ordered, laughing, flipping up his sight. “He doesn’t have ammunition loaded!”

It was obvious. With considerable means to keep beneficial distance between himself and Yugi’s comrades the brave little soldier in the red mech wasn’t using them. As a matter of fact he seemed to ignore any punches that dealt damage to the guns as Ryuji made point strikes. The Republicans must’ve been prepping for the strike on the base and caught with their pants down their crimson buddy found himself without any bullets. Yugi considered their mission might be quicker than expected.

With that assured the Republicans, unable to deny the fact, were suddenly trying to run. Reinvigorated however Ryuji, Hitoro and Katsuya were taking the stride to lay waste to them. It was almost unfair. The crimson mech however was still holding ground even if he was forced to dodge their heavier assaults.

Could it be? Yugi laughed. Little fucker wouldn’t die!  
  
“Hey Atem!” He hollered over the radio. “Back for more hero? Having fun pant less?”

“ _I don’t need bullets to beat someone like you!_ ”

This guy needed his own comic book or maybe he’d just spent his childhood reading to many. Still, if that was his dream death scenario, Yugi was compelled to give it to him.

“Bring it!” He offered, brain swelling with endorphins at the prospect of a ballsy guy like Atem Horakhty who had proven his capabilities to take a hit.

Yugi left the roof, hit the ground as the electric pulse laser pinged charged and letting it off lost sent dust, sand and rubble crashing into the air. Atem turned tail down a back street of the outpost and leaving the rest to the dirty work they’d make quick business of Yugi gave chase. He often had to be the predator in these conflicts. Few men stood to fight anymore and without gunfire Atem had been forced to take a turn looking for something to defend himself with as Yugi gave chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Horakhty- the God of Light from the last season of YGO seemed the perfect last name for Atem.   
> 2 Hope you enjoyed the tracks!  
> 3 If you've read this before try and keep the comments vague and spoiler free for the new people, okay? Thank you in advance

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
> 1 I’m going to include, in brackets, tracks for scenes (aka the songs I listened to when I was writing that scene) and then an ‘end track’ note to tell you where to stop listening to a certain song. They’re just suggestions which might help you get in the mood. Check back next time for more details.
> 
> For this chapter there are no set songs but I listened to on low:  
> (Mainly) Buffy the Vampire Slayer- Going Through the Motions Instrumental/Karaoke Version  
> Fountains of Wayne- Stacy’s Mom Has Got it Going On  
> Lords of Acid- I Must Increase My Bust  
> Ataris- In This Diary  
> Wheatus- Teenage Dirtbag
> 
> 2 I’ll also be including ‘hint songs’ from time to time. These might be what I consider a characters’ theme song or a couples’ theme song and these will give you hints as well. They’ll be posted at the end of the chapter. 
> 
> For this chapter:  
> Yugi- Miranda Lambert- Fastest Girl in Town  
> Yami- Avenue Q- There is Life outside Your Apartment
> 
> 3 This fic is sort of what I imagine would happen if Black Adder, Code Geass, Zoids and YuGiOh beat each other up in a bar. You’ll probably catch references to all three. Which is probably why I’ve been loving writing this. 
> 
> 4 No, Yami and Yugi aren’t nice people. They’re wonderfully pre-damaged. I wouldn’t call them anti-heroes in that I’d be more inclined to call them villains. That said I’m of the firm belief that the longer you keep a bad guy on screen the less intimidating they’re revealed to be. Inside every evil empire there’s a lot fairly normal shit happening. Even Voldemort takes bathroom breaks.
> 
> 5 Carte Blanche/ Blank Cheque – basically when you get military permission to do whatever is necessary with full backing from your national authority which became a thing in 1914 during WWI. 
> 
> 6 Response Suit/Combat Suit- a kind of suit worn to help up your effectiveness when piloting a mech (or giant robot), looks something vaguely like those in Evangelion or Code Geass. Mechs themselves are closer in size to Code Geass robots and similar shape. 
> 
> 7 Where are they? Well you can think of it as somewhere between far future Earth or distant planet with same name. The people of Cyprus are mostly Catholics for one thing, celebrate Christmas and both countries share some catch phrases we’re familiar with.
> 
> 8 Empire = Cyprus (a city close to Egypt in Shakespeare’s Othello where brave, diligent, Othello is tricked into killing his interracial wife and then murders himself in grief)  
> Republic = Bohemia (a country in Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. A sort of pastoral wonderland where lost princesses find true love and old wounds are healed.) 
> 
> 9 Yugi’s subordinates- Otogi Ryuji, Honda Hiroto and Jonouchi Katsuya


End file.
